wavelength of a night
as she hums her elegy-
even silence sighs
wavelength of a night
as she hums her elegy-
even silence sighs
the rise and fall of a dog’s paws as it leaps
through the night, beneath the chill settling
on the shoulders, the summer drawing to
a close, an ending of all that enraptured
my thought, the fire extinguishes again in
the pinch of my thumb and forefinger, time
seems to be turning on my path again, I
can smell its perfume, a plot of my dreams
a movie seen on the TV one lone morning
the past tingles my skin and I wink, repeat
the steps once traversed, crumbling beneath
soon the land will run out and a trench formed
and a true end that be, the black dog heaves,
my feet take me to places unknown (yet known)
ubiquitous eyes trace all that happens, that is,
the fates die by my touch, diffusing into the blurs,
I turn into an Effigy, the moon howls, dreams sleep
The writer has the right to tell his tale in symbols.The reader has the right to see through those symbols as a part of his own tale.
to get a glimpse of attraction,
that fickle-minded monster that
makes the days miserable, wants
to have a piece of congenial love,
how pitiful is the plight of heart
that gets scorched in the sun of
ignorance, how wretched am I
to try to take things from time
which is not mine, never was
a friend(or not) yesterday evoked me
with words such that substantiates
things I had taken not into account
“A, we always leave you alone and
you do not mind”, I am battered, lost
by the treachery of my belief, my will
to breathe the winds of the company
but tis’ not in my fates, I am frugal, whole
the way I am: plain, sane, full of disdain
There are those moments when you realize that you do not suit the standards set to be followed by you. You are yourself, but not someone who would take the step forth to conquer all the odds. Some people are just meant to be living in a world created within and not that which comes in contact with the many other worlds conjured by the lives of all.
I am an entity like any other. I am no more significant than an ant trampled beneath my feet. To realize the insignificance of things and of your life, you come to accept yourself, even if your understanding is embedded in darkness and isolation. Is it bad to let the days go by with limbs measuring the length and breadth of bed? Does inactivity exist when the mind continues to whirl images of memories, of desires unfulfilled, of unreachable dreams?
Every thought is contradictory, because there is not a basic idea or emotion or feeling to guide a life. We are humans and thus, we are entangled in the branches of the ideas and emotions and feelings. There is no right answer because there is no right question. Everything is the same, everything is different: Life just can’t be understood.
Who is to measure the worth of a life lived in play? Who is to measure the waste of a life lived in inactivity? What needs to be done? Which direction of the contradictions to cling to?
I am drifting to sleep, I am singing to myself, I am thinking. What needs to be done? What should I do? Where am I? Where am I to go from here?
a face with no color, pale that I become
in the evening when sun petals have scattered
amid the clouds, I walk through crowds showing
a glimpse of my crimson lips and dark eyes
people avert their gaze from me, I am peculiar
in the land of gentle folk, a bane, a truth
that no one stares at, no one has that restrain,
my palms are the sheets of days and nights
obscured in the mist of the now, I can’t escape,
my desires unfulfilled, words only creating a hum
as the night darkens and the owl hoot is heard
in the dazzling dance on the carpets, where we stand,
I wave my hands, take a leap like a doll extended
beyond the lines of rationale, lost in the moment
whence a shot captures me, I am a vampire,
“A picture please…”, “Oh! You look like a ghost”:
path traverses out, a new phase of life begins
is this that justice, showered by twinkling eyes
and nodes of narcissism jutting out of one and all
and same as me, deriving beauty in lonesome lies
This is the second in the series titled, I am a vampire. If it happens to be so and if the muse allows me to do so, I would like to continue further with it. You can also read the first poem in the series: justice wrought as words tumble out/ at least for now- I am a vampire (Part 1)
The above picture was clicked on our Freshers’ evening. The theme was: Halos and Horns. I had a hurried day and within a span of five minutes, I tried to mold my face into a caricature of the light and dark which resides in us. And “they” once again said that I look like a vampire. If my mouth was open, you would have got a better glimpse as to why that comment has been directed to me. ;)
a worm bite it is as I take rounds around the walking path
of the garden where the mutts shout, reclaim their territory,
I get the notion to return back and open the empty pages
so to absorb their whiteness through my trembling fingers
as they begin to trot on their own accord, a voice found
some words to relinquish my thirst, my loquacious desires
“You look very much like a vampire,” a class mate says to me,
I make the gesture of biting my own wrist so that the blood
shall run free, and sniff the air of imaginative dreams
“Hello, unique,” a mate calls me out from the crowd
and I embrace his title for me, the uniqueness imbued in us all
struggling to sore out in the form of an image
to represent the remains that are left of me
how little I know my vanity, how much I know my individuality,
sins I create, sins I commit, I am pardoned by my justice
that stings like the worm bite and I caress it incredulously
Thank you so much for your support. I haven’t replied to your kind comments in my previous post but I have embraced your love and the beauty of your kind words.
This poem here is a part of a series of poems: “I am a vampire”. I have already written the second part as well. So, it is final that it would at least have two parts and if it happens to be so, I would like to continue further with it.
The daily routine comes along and sometimes, it takes away all those things from you that you cherish and treasure beyond anything else. This blog has been my friend since the last three years. I recently had my 3rd anniversary on WordPress. And today, I find it so difficult to share some words here. There has been a slight shift in the activities that I indulge in to keep this life going.
I have started my college life now. And my entire day is spent there, from 9 to 5. After that, there is nothing much left to do. I eat. I read a few articles online. I watch some TV. I research for college work. I sleep. Another day begins and the routine shadows me once again. I have ached for this routine during some of the hardest days in the last couple of years and now when I have found it, I am rather disturbed and a little perturbed by its presence. May be it is because this routine has left so little of time that I could spend with myself. I think I had become quite habitual to entire days which I lived in company of no one but that of my own. The solitude had become a part of me, inseparable from me, that now I search for it here and there.
I am studying Hotel Management. I joined this course, thinking that it would make me active and practical, garnering skills necessary for this service industry. I won’t go in detail but I don’t feel the same anymore. Though I still find some subjects interesting, like the Front office operations and Food Production. The work has been rather theoretical by now but I know that it will change with time.
Such things are trivial. But the major concern is the gruesome result of these bursts of active participation in these days, I am not writing. I haven’t written a complete poem since long. Some fragments do tear themselves away from me at certain stances and that is all. I want to grieve for this loss that I am experiencing. But I am not feeling anything at all.
I am just another body, unconsciously counting the seconds. I am a soul, who can’t be satisfied. I am the flesh that is just meant for the physical domain. I am a heart writhing and singing, unheard. My pulse continues. I am alive. I breathe. I look at the snapshot of a day at a time. The past is erasing some of its own lines. The future is out of my reach. The present is me. I flow with the tides of time.